


Survival

by Ada_Parker



Category: Train to Busan (2016), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bangtan Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Gen, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, None of the boys die I promise, Rated For Violence, Train to Busan!AU, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ada_Parker/pseuds/Ada_Parker
Summary: Seven young men board the KTX 101 from Seoul to Busan at 0700, all for different reasons. One is running from his past. Two are running to it. One is hopeful about his future. One hopes his future never comes. And one just wants to do his job but it's getting difficult to do when there's a hoard of murderous undead with an exponential growth rate running amok through the cars. While the morning began for different reasons, circumstance unites them into a single goal-Survive.
Kudos: 16





	1. Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the characters of the Bangtan Universe as portrayed by the members of BTS. It is not based on the members of BTS themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific trigger warnings for this chapter: Second degree murder, mention of suicide, mention of seizures

Part One: Taehyung

It was sunset; time to go home. Taehyung had been dreading it all day. If it were his choice he’d stay out all night, crashing on some bus station bench or behind a dumpster or any number of rough places. Sleeping outside would be better than sleeping with him in the other room, snoring off who knows how many sips of rancid vodka. 

But he’d promised Tae-eul he’d come home for dinner. And when it came to his sister, Taehyung kept his promises. So he started walking home, stashing his spray paint cans in their hiding place behind some plywood discarded in his project housing forever ago, and went upstairs, taking them two at a time.

He heard the shouting before he could even touch the door. His father was angry again. Taehyung listened to the sounds he was all too familiar with. The slurred bluster of his deadbeat father, reedy and poisonous, set off again for some perceived slight to his manhood. The clink of discarded bottles as they rolled around the scuffed floorboards. The unmistakable sound of fists on flesh.

Taehyung opened the door. The sounds got louder, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding of blood in his ears. He saw Tae-eul through the doorway. His beautiful sister, marred with red and purple bruises all over her face and arms, lip split for the thousandth time under the hand of their father. 

Something was wrong. Something was always wrong, but this time it was worse. There was a charge to the air, a new kind of desperation in his sister’s eyes that reached depths Taehyung hadn’t previously thought possible. She wasn’t crying. She never cried, not anymore. Their father had beat the tears out of them long ago. 

But something was wrong. 

Then the words came, _“I’ll kill you, you ungrateful little slut!” ___

__His father had said those words before. But they’d always come when he was so drunk, so punched out he fell asleep nearly immediately after. But he wasn’t that far gone yet. The words came clear, laced with real malice. This time, he actually meant it._ _

__NO._ _

__Taehyung didn’t bother to think. He rushed into the room, grabbed an empty bottle from the counter and smashed it, leaving a ring of jagged glass in his hands. He lunged forward, yanking his father off of Tae-eul and shoving him into the wall. And he drove the bottle into his father’s heart._ _

__Nobody moved for several seconds. Until his father began heaving, breaths squeezing wetly in and out of his ruined chest. Until Taehyung felt thick, hot liquid dripping onto his hand. Until little by little, the what little light was present in the eyes of his father faded into nothingness._ _

__“Taehyung.”_ _

__He couldn’t move._ _

__“Taehyung.”_ _

__He couldn’t break contact with his father’s dead eyes. His _dead _father’s eyes.___ _

____“Taehyung, you need to move,” Tae-eul gripped his shoulder, attempting to disconnect him from the corpse._ _ _ _

____What have I done?_ _ _ _

____“We need to go, Taehyung!” she pleaded. “We have to get out of here before anyone calls the cops!”_ _ _ _

____At the mention of police, a bit of pragmatic sanity born of years running from beat cops and spending nights in jail cells returned to him. If they found him here, hands covered in his father’s blood and fingerprints all over the murder weapon, he’d go to prison for certain and stay there, leaving Tae-eul on her own. He couldn’t let that happen. They were all each other ever had._ _ _ _

____“Where would we go?” he asked. It was no exaggeration to say they had nothing. Not with their father pissing away every paycheck on booze and bad racing bets. They had no family. At least none who wouldn’t ask questions he and Tae-eul couldn’t answer. Their only option was the street. But how long could they hide there? How long could they survive?_ _ _ _

____But his sister surprised him. Tae-eul disappeared into the tiny bedroom and came back with a small jewelry box. When she opened it, a thick wad of bills popped out._ _ _ _

____“Where the hell did you get this?” Taehyung asked, eyes wide._ _ _ _

____Tae-eul just smiled. “I’ve been working in secret,” she explained. “Odd jobs. Laundry mostly; anything that paid under the table so appa wouldn’t notice.”_ _ _ _

____Taehyung felt tears prick the corner of his eyes. His little sister, so brave and strong. She deserved so much more than life had dealt her. “How much is there?”_ _ _ _

____“Enough. We can start by getting to Busan.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Part Two: Hoseok_ _ _ _

____Just one more time._ _ _ _

____Hoseok rewound the track, letting the opening measure play as he got into position. Once the thumping bassline kicked in, he started his routine, flowing through the choreography with an effortless grace only achieved after days of rehearsal. Still, there were little things he still needed to improve. His pops could be even more on the beat. The transition from the kneeling portion back to standing could be smoother. His expression could be even more fierce. It had to be if he wanted to nail this audition. It would only get him a place on one of the best dance teams in the country._ _ _ _

____“Knock knock!” a feminine voice cut through the hip hop sounds._ _ _ _

____Hoseok stopped, whirling around to see who had interrupted him, then immediately softened on seeing it was Hyejin, his girlfriend._ _ _ _

____“What are you still doing here? You’ve got to leave now if you want to catch your train.”_ _ _ _

____Wait, what time was it?_ _ _ _

____Hoseok checked the time on his phone. 6:45AM._ _ _ _

____“Shit!” he exclaimed, entering the early stages of panic. “I haven’t even packed yet!”_ _ _ _

____Hyejin just giggled. She lifted her arm, revealing a large black duffle bag hanging from her hand. “I went ahead and packed for you."_ _ _ _

____He sighed in relief. “You are the best. Girlfriend. Ever.” Hoseok crossed the floor and pressed a wet smooch to her cheek._ _ _ _

____Hyejin just shoved him off and handed him the duffel. “I already know that, dummy.”_ _ _ _

____“Doesn’t mean I can’t remind you,” he said, and went back in for another._ _ _ _

____She let him this time, then said, “Your Uber should be here in two minutes, your AirBnb check in is at noon, and your meds are in the front pocket.”_ _ _ _

____Hoseok listened contentedly until the last item. His meds. For narcolepsy. Had she looked at the label? Even if she did could she know what it meant? Yeah it wasn’t super uncommon but Hyejin was a dancer not a pharmacologist the odds of her figuring it out were low--_ _ _ _

____“Hobi, Uber’s here.”_ _ _ _

____Hoseok blinked a few times, taking a deep breath to dispel his rising panic._ _ _ _

____Hyejin reached up and took his face in her hands. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna do great.”_ _ _ _

____He nodded, letting her gentle touch calm him the rest of the way down. “I’ll call you when the train leaves, and when I get to Daejeon.”_ _ _ _

____“You’d better,” she released him and pushed him towards the door. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”_ _ _ _

____“Hey, I thought I got to be Mary Jane this Halloween!”_ _ _ _

____“Go!”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Part Three: Seokjin_ _ _ _

____“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare to land.”_ _ _ _

____Seokjin startled awake to the PA announcement. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. Still half-gone, he fumbled with the buckles until he finally heard them click together. First class may afford better seating, but the crick in his neck attested that better didn’t actually mean good. At least there was no one next to him to hear him snore._ _ _ _

____As the plane descended-- causing that uncomfortable weightless feeling in his gut-- Seokjin looked out the window as they broke the cloud cover and spotted the lights of Incheon and Seoul spilling over the dark landscape. Two years he’d been in America. Two years since he’d seen a Korean skyline._ _ _ _

____The landing went off without incident. As soon as he debarked and picked up his luggage from baggage claim, Seokjin called his father. It was early; not quite six o clock, but knowing his father he’d already be at work. Relaxed mornings weren’t really Abraxas CFO Kim Changjun’s style. The tone sounded for several moments, but ultimately went to voicemail._ _ _ _

____Seokjin sighed internally. “Hey, appa. Just wanted to let you know that I landed safely. My train leaves at seven so I should be in Busan before lunchtime. Maybe we can eat together? I can fill you in on the results of my semester. Not the grades, of course, I know gran already gave you those. But it’d be nice to just catch up, right? Anyway, give me a call when you get this. I’ll see you soon.”_ _ _ _

____He’d get a call back. If he was lucky. Or maybe if the Archangel Gabriel descended from the heavens and pulled a Joseph on his father to make him pull his head out of his… work. Before he could fall too heavily into his lament, Seokjin spotted his name written on a whiteboard in the hands of a young woman in a suit and cabby hat._ _ _ _

____He waved to her, and she called out his name for confirmation, which he gave._ _ _ _

____“My name is Choi Ahnjong. I’ll be escorting you to the train station this morning. May I take your bag?” She asked in a perfect customer service voice._ _ _ _

____“No thank you, I’ve got it,” Seokjin answered._ _ _ _

____She nodded, then led him out of the airport to the long front drive. Once his bag was safely in the trunk and him safely in the passenger seat, she said, “Welcome back to Korea.”_ _ _ _

____“Good to be back.”_ _ _ _

____And it was, failed phone call notwithstanding. He enjoyed his study abroad in San Diego, but he was looking forward to being home. He was looking forward to Chuseok and Seongjeong Beach and eating jjapaguri and bibimbap without having to go all the way to Koreatown for ingredients. He was looking forward to properly stocked corner stores and efficient bathroom layouts and a national square mileage that didn’t require hours of driving just to get anywhere._ _ _ _

____Just a few more hours and he’d be back where he belonged._ _ _ _

____SCREECH! Seokjin jolted forward, saved from beaning his head on the glove compartment by Ahnjong’s hand. The car lurched to a stop with its nose just poking into the intersection. A long wave of wailing fire trucks, ambulances, and police cruisers raced in front of them, heading towards downtown Seoul._ _ _ _

____“What’s going on this early?” Ahnjong asked._ _ _ _

____Seokjin searched out the window, trying to figure out what the commotion could be. Looking up, he saw white flakes drifting down from the sky. Snow! He hadn’t seen snow in two years. He rolled down the window and stuck his hand out, hoping feel soft coolness of the flakes. But when he did, he realized. It wasn’t cold enough for snow._ _ _ _

____One of the flakes landed on his palm. Instead of melting, it disintegrated into black powder. Ash._ _ _ _

____“Are you ok?” Ahnjong asked him. “That startled me. Looks like something’s happening.”_ _ _ _

____Seokjin turned his head to the left and saw what she was talking about. In the distance, there was a highrise on fire, several of the upper floors completely engulfed in flames._ _ _ _

____So much for a perfect homecoming._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Part Four: Jungkook_ _ _ _

____His mom was calling again. Jungkook pedaled faster, legs whirling as he raced down the street and ignored the intermittent buzz in his jacket pocket. He wasn’t going to pick up. Not this time. Not ever again. Besides, she’d made it very clear last night that there wasn’t a place for him in her life anymore. She didn’t want him. Hadn’t wanted him since he was ten and she remarried into the perfect family with a rich, perfect husband and two perfect stepchildren who were popular and made good grades and didn’t ask questions about their past because there was no mystery to it._ _ _ _

____Not like him. Jungkook could’ve stayed forever this way; losing himself in the feeling of his burning muscles and wind in his face and the perfectly indifferent sounds of a city too big to care about a lonely little boy and his questions._ _ _ _

____But he couldn’t stay. Questions demand answers, and he had too many of the former and not enough of the latter. And besides, the upcoming crosswalk was holding out a red hand. Jungkook slowed to a stop. The buzzing started again. Yanking his phone from his pocket, he checked the caller id even though he knew it was her. What was this, the tenth time she tried to call him since he stormed out? Jungkook declined the call, then tossed the phone into a nearby drain. He didn’t need it anymore. There was no one in Seoul he cared to keep in contact with._ _ _ _

____Ten minutes later, he was at the KTX station._ _ _ _

____“One one-way to Busan on the next available train,” he told the ticket agent._ _ _ _

____“That’d be the 101 at 0700. That soon enough for you?” she asked, giving him a teasing smirk._ _ _ _

____Jungkook returned a sheepish grin. “That obvious, huh?”_ _ _ _

____“I’ve worked here long enough to know when kids are trying to get the hell out of dodge. Word of advice, have your fun down south and come back home. Being on your own ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”_ _ _ _

____Jungkook kept his face neutral. She didn’t know anything. There was no way he was ever coming back here. Besides, he wasn’t like every other cocksure teenager on a rebellion binge. He wasn’t just running away. He had something to run to._ _ _ _

____He pulled the photograph out of his pocket. “Do you by chance recognize this man?” Jungkook held it up for her. It was an old, beat up polaroid of a man in slightly blurry profile._ _ _ _

____She studied it for a moment, then said, “Afraid not.”_ _ _ _

____Jungkook nodded and put it away. He wasn’t really expecting her to, but he had to try. That’s why he was going to Busan, after all. Jungkook was going to find his father._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Part Five: Jimin_ _ _ _

____“Any abnormal tastes or smells?”_ _ _ _

____“No.”_ _ _ _

____“Nausea?”_ _ _ _

____“No.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Deja or jamais vu?”_ _ _ _

____“None.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Visual hallucinations?”_ _ _ _

____“None.” As of right now, Jimin added mentally._ _ _ _

____“Look, I know I have to ask these questions a lot, but I’m just doing my job. I need to make sure you’re feeling ok before we board,” his orderly-- wait, medical assistant-- Minjun said. And he was right, he was just doing his job. But today was the first day in a long time Jimin actually got to sit in a public area and wear something other than hospital pyjamas and who could blame him if he wanted to pretend that he was actually free and not just being foisted off on some other doctor who wouldn’t be able to fix what’s wrong with him because _that’s how idiopathic epilepsy works they are by definition cause unknown. _____ _ _

______His transfer from Seoul to Daejeon had come at the insistence of his mother. Jimin pretended that it was because his new team in Daejeon were fresh thinkers who might come up with something new in terms of treatment. But he knew it was just so that she could feel less guilty about never visiting him._ _ _ _ _ _

______The transfer occurring over KTX was his insistence, though. He argued for days with his doctors he would be fine forgoing medical transport, in fact it would do him good to get out into the world for a little bit, even if it was supervised by Minjun. They eventually capitulated, so long as Minjun kept in near-constant contact with them and administered that stupid wellness inventory every half hour._ _ _ _ _ _

______Was he really ok with this? The little taste of freedom he’d had so far was nice. He’d forgotten what the city he grew up in sounded like. Forgotten how it felt to look out the window and watch the lines in the sidewalk slip in and out of his vision. Forgotten how it felt to make random eye contact with strangers. Forgotten about strangers in general._ _ _ _ _ _

______Maybe he’d make a friend on the way. A fellow passenger, near his age, going home to Daejeon after a holiday weekend in Seoul. Maybe they’d exchange numbers, keep in contact for a little while. Maybe they’d get close enough for them to come visit Jimin. It didn’t have to be often; maybe once every other week. That wasn’t too much of a commitment, right? Even if it were less often he’d take it. They’d be doing better than his parents ever bothered to._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Are you even listening to me?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jimin snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he’d wandered off into dreamland without once replying to Minjun. He’d been spacing out a lot lately. What else was there do to when all his days were vaguely identical?_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sorry,” he responded._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s ok. I was telling you it’s time to board.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jimin took a steadying breath. This really was happening. “Let’s go then.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Part Six: Yoongi_ _ _ _ _ _

_______Flick. _Yoongi felt the familiar heat of the lighter flame sting against his thumbnail, then released the lever. Again, _flick. _Pain. Release. Pain. Release. On the next flick, the train rolled into the platform, the winds it dragged along extinguishing the fire before it could give the pain.____ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Scoffing, Yoongi backed away from the yellow line and away from the treacherous breeze. He flicked the lighter again, this time not for pain, but to light a cigarette. He took a drag, feeling the hot smoke burn its way down his throat and into his lungs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________A crowd of people slowly joined him around the edge of the platform, brought forward by the train’s whistle. They gave him a wide berth despite the limited space. That was fine by Yoongi. He had that effect on people. He liked having that effect on people. When the train stopped, he chose a car at random and hopped into the vestibule, only to be immediately stopped by an attendant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Sir, you can’t smoke on the train.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Yoongi glanced down at the cigarette. Oh, right. It was such a familiar presence between his fingers he forgot it wasn’t the same for other people. Without bothering to reply to her, he hopped back off. He didn’t fail to notice the sour expression she gave him. Whatever. He didn’t care what she thought. She didn’t know why he was here. Why he made this trip every year. And he wasn’t going to sit there and subject himself to her petty disgust._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He took one last long drag before dropping the cigarette, crushing it under his boot, and walking to the next car. The attendant this time was male-- about Yoongi’s age, maybe a bit younger. All he did was ask to see Yoongi’s boarding pass, check it, and wave him into the car. He took a seat right up front, on the outside window. He itched for another smoke._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Despite his ever-present lighter, Yoongi didn’t actually smoke that much. He’d only go through a pack every five or six days normally. But this time of year wasn’t normal for him. Every year the nicotine itch would get worse in the weeks leading up to today and wouldn’t level back out unless he went visit again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________It wasn’t even the house he grew up in anymore. After the fire they’d rebuilt over the slab and a nice family-- the Kangs-- had moved in. But part of that space still belonged to him. Still belonged to her. Yoongi didn’t believe in ghosts. It didn’t change the fact of that piece of Earth was the only place he could still feel his mother’s presence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________So he made his pilgrimage every year. If not to say goodbye-- suicide wasn’t the best for that kind of thing-- then to at least appease her ghost and get rid of the itch for a little while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Part Seven: Namjoon_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Two minutes to departure. Namjoon glanced the contents of his car. Not too full-- one of the perks of the early rides. On days where his first shift wasn’t until 09 or 1000, the cars were packed to the gills with travellers who, unlike this crowd, didn’t feel like subjecting themselves to a wake up call of 0600 or earlier._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Despite the early hour, Namjoon liked the early morning shift. It meant he was in Busan and back to Seoul again early enough to have the whole afternoon off or, as was the more often case, work another round trip on this line or another._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Today’s ride was fairly regular. Businessmen headed south for meetings, a few seniors on vacation, students returning from a weekend in the city. There were two standouts, though. The first was a boy about his age with bleach blonde hair and a bad attitude who smelled like cigarette ash. Namjoon didn’t believe in profiling, but something about him spelled trouble. Nobody well-adjusted walked around with that look in their eyes. That expression of having not much left to lose._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Namjoon was glad that boy took a seat near the front, where it would be easy to keep an eye on him. And he was glad the other passenger of note took a seat in the back, where hopefully Namjoon wouldn’t have to deal with him. The passenger in question was Jo Yonsuk. He’d gone ahead and memorized the balding, blandly-but-expensively-dressed man’s name when, immediately upon boarding, he gave Namjoon such a vile, holier-than-thou face Namjoon knew he was more likely to cause trouble than Cigarette Boy. Most passengers treated him like wallpaper, or at least a phone booth. Useful when needed but otherwise ignored. This asshole was a whole different animal, seeing service workers like dogs. Expected to be obedient and unobtrusive, but punished without mercy for any slight, real or perceived. Namjoon learned long ago how to identify and pacify such people. And it started with making sure he knew their names, firstly so he could make them feel special if they kicked up a fuss, secondly so he had something to give his superiors when they blew up in his face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Thirty seconds to departure. When the conductor’s check in came over the radio, Namjoon gave his all clear. All passengers boarded and seated. But when he went to clip the walkie talkie back on his belt, he noticed a commotion deeper into the station._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Up the stairs from the platform, a group of people were circling around some sort of commotion. Despite the intervening distance, Namjoon caught snippets of sound. Cries of astonishment, squeaks of shoe soles slipping on linoleum, and… was that growling? Must be some sort of fight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Before he could dwell too deeply on it, the train lurched forward and the scene disappeared from view. Namjoon put it out of his mind and entered the car, making the first of his rounds._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah that's the first chapter. I don't have much written beyond this and I know better than to lock myself into a posting schedule. That said I plan on posting all chapters as soon as they're done and lightly edited. I'm hoping making my story public will encourage me to finish it for once.


	2. Interlude: Infection

From the midst of the crowd-- the very one Namjoon saw-- burst a lone figure, tearing toward the platform. This figure was female, young and slender, with a short haircut and stylish denim shorts. She ran towards the train, desperate to get on and escape the scene behind her. Her leg burned from where that crazy man had bit it. 

She slipped past the conductor and boarded the train, vaguely registering her own gasps of pain as she limped into the women’s washroom. Once inside, she took stock of her situation. The pain from the bite mark had begun spreading up her legs, snaking its way into her guts. Already she could see blackness in the veins surrounding it. What was the thing that bit her? It looked like a man, but moved so unnaturally the term almost didn’t apply. And his eyes. They were the eyes of a dead thing. 

She had to stop the spread. In a desperate attempt, she ripped the drawstring from her hoodie and tied it around her leg, failing several times as her fingers trembled and she whimpered over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t take the pain anymore. She needed help. She left the washroom, stumbling through the car in search of an attendant. She could feel her motor control slipping away, limbs convulsing with no rhyme or reason. When she reached the next vestibule, her balance finally gave out and she crashed to the ground, trembling and in pain. This was it for her. Whatever happened to her, she was going to die from it. 

An attendant finally passed by. Seeing the seizing woman, she rushed forward, calling, “Miss! Miss! Are you alright? Oh god…”

This was beyond her. She picked up her walkie talkie and called, “Attention! A passenger is requiring medical attention in Car 11!” 

She went back to the passenger, desperately trying to get her attention and figure out what to do as the woman’s convulsions slowed, then finally stopped. Had her seizure ended? Was she dead? The attendant pressed her fingers to the woman’s neck, searching for a pulse. She couldn’t find one. 

She turned away and tried the radio again. “Chief, where are you?” Still no response.

Unbeknownst to the panicked attendant, the bitten woman rose. She stood, black veins webbing across her skin, eyes white and dead, limbs contorting inhumanly. Only one thought, one impulse, remained inside her ruined brain.

_KILL! ___


	3. First Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for this chapter (Note, I’m only including things here that don’t implicitly fall under the zombie apocalypse genre. If you know the movie you know what you’re getting into in that regard.): Suicidal ideation, reference to past suicide attempt

Part One: Namjoon

It took all of twenty minutes for Jo Yonsuk to make a fuss. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, with a modicum more politeness than Namjoon was expecting.

Namjoon answered, “Yes?”

Jo Yonsuk pointed a thick finger to the back vestibule. “I think there’s someone smoking in the men’s bathroom. I tried to get his attention but he wouldn’t answer.”

Namjoon spared a glance to Cigarette Boy’s seat. Empty. Go figure. Just his luck to have to deal with this already. With a nod, he made his way to the vestibule, Jo Yonsuk following uncomfortably close behind. Trust the businessman bigwig to stick his nose where it wasn’t necessary. He ignored the breath on his neck and kept walking. This wouldn’t be the first time he dealt with passengers who couldn’t wait to scratch their nicotine itch, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Namjoon knocked on the bathroom door. Jo Yonsuk was right, though. There was a pungent odor all over the room. What had this kid been doing in here, chain smoking formaldehyde?

When Cigarette Boy didn’t respond after multiple attempts to get his attention, Namjoon used his key to unlock the door and slide it open. Cigarette Boy was leaned against the wall, half-spent smoke dangling between his fingers and the remnants of at least two more dirtying the toilet water. At least he had the decency to flick his ash into the toilet instead of the floor. 

When he saw Namjoon and Yonsuk, he just smirked, exhaled the smoke he’d been holding into the vent, and said, “Is there a problem?”

Before Namjoon could speak, Yonsuk yelled, “Yah, you punk! Put that damn thing out! Who do you think you are spreading your filth all over the bathroom?! I hope your parents are ashamed of you, you little brat! I bet you never even finished high school because you rotted your brain on those things and who knows what else!”

Cigarette Boy’s expression dropped from devil-may-care into something far more dangerous. Namjoon had seen that look plenty of times before, on the faces of the runaways and drop outs that made their home in his container city. Kids who held darkness in their eyes not because the light had faded but because it had been put out. By death. By abuse. By losing battles against addiction or poverty. It was a darkness that spoke of having lost everything worth having and not being afraid to fight viciously for whatever was left. 

Namjoon knew he had to do something, or this could get ugly quickly. He started to speak, not caring what might come out of his mouth but just wanting to break the tension.

“Yah!” a new voice butted in. It came from a teenage boy with hoop earrings and big, doe-like eyes in the back aisle seat. “You shouldn’t talk to him like that! What did he do to you?” 

“Mind your own damn business, kid,” Yonsuk spat back.

“What, and just let you rip into him like that? You’re not his father, leave him alone!”

“That’s enough.” Namjoon spoke up. “Yonsuk-ssi, please return to your seat. I will handle this.” Not waiting for Yonsuk to respond, he turned to Cigarette Boy. “Sir, please put that out and refrain from smoking until we reach our first stop. It shouldn’t be more than forty-five minutes.” 

To his surprise, Cigarette Boy didn’t put up a fuss. Just tossed the burning butt into the toilet, hit the flush, and exited the bathroom, brushing past Namjoon without a word. 

Part Two: Jungkook  
_What an asshole, _Jungkook thought as he watched the nasty businessman make his way up the aisle. Seriously, what gave that jerk the right to yell at that boy? He was just a passenger too. Rich men like him always thought they could get away with anything, because God forbid they be wrong about anything. They were too smart and successful to ever be wrong. No, everyone else was the problem and needed to get on board with their way of doing things.__

__Before Jungkook could stew too long on the empathy blindness of businessmen, the guy from the bathroom re-entered the car. He paused in the aisle next to Jungkook’s seat, fixing him with an unreadable expression._ _

__“Don’t do that.”_ _

__What?_ _

__Before Jungkook could ask what he meant, the boy resumed his trek to the front of the car._ _

__Was this guy serious? Jungkook hadn’t expected much out of speaking up. He hoped for a thank you, but at most he figured the boy would ignore him. The last thing he expected was a fucking chastisement. What was his problem? Did he want that businessman to tear him a new one in public? The whole car heard the guy yelling. Jungkook didn’t care what rules that boy was breaking, nobody deserved public humiliation. So why was he so ready to just sit there and take it? He hadn’t even spoken up for himself; just stood there and stared at the man._ _

__You know what, no. Jungkook wasn’t going to just sit here and ruminate. He’d lived life with too many unanswered questions. He didn’t need any more. Before he could talk himself out of it, Jungkook grabbed his backpack and moved to the front of the train. When he reached the boy’s aisle, he eased himself into the seat next to him. The boy spared him a brief glance, then went back to staring out the window._ _

__“You shouldn’t let people talk to you like that,” Jungkook said._ _

__The boy shot back, “Don’t tell me what to do.”_ _

__“Then don’t tell me what to do!” Did this guy get off on hypocrisy or something?_ _

__“I don’t need to take advice from a thirteen year old,” the boy said._ _

__“I’m seventeen, asshole,” Jungkook retorted. “I was born in 1997.”_ _

__The boy said, “Could’ve fooled me. And besides, I’m twenty-one. You shouldn’t talk to me like that.”_ _

__“Could’ve fooled me.”_ _

__The boy paused for a moment, then let out a wry chuckle. Jungkook needed to call him something other than “the boy,” now that he knew he was his senior. He guessed he should call him sunbae. No way he was jumping straight to hyung._ _

__Sunbae spoke up, “Seriously, learn how to pick your battles. It’s not worth it to piss off people like that. Just lands you in trouble.”_ _

__“And smoking in a train bathroom doesn’t?” Jungkook said. When sunbae didn’t respond, he added, “Seems like you don’t take your own advice.”_ _

__Sunbae said, “What’s that English saying? _Do as I say, not as I do?” _____

____This guy was weird. He acted like a self-absorbed rock star, then proved himself externally aware enough to offer advice to Jungkook. But then circled right back into assholery and gave said advice in three words of condescension. Then once Jungkook started pushing on his image he showed a glimmer of humanity and explained himself. Kindof. In a backwards, intentionally-and-aware-of-it hypocritical fashion that Jungkook suspected was just his way of navigating the world._ _ _ _

____All of it pointed to something Jungkook recognized. Walls. Major ones. Great Wall of China-level barriers between himself and the world. Jungkook had plenty of his own; perhaps not quite so tall, and against different threats. Enough to know that sunbae’s walls weren’t strong against him. They were strong against people like the nasty businessman and the attendant. Positions of authority. If Jungkook wanted to, he could get past them. And he wanted to. God, he was so tired of being alone._ _ _ _

____“Don’t parents say that to their kids?” Jungkook teased. “Am I your kid now?”_ _ _ _

____Sunbae just shoved Jungkook, but there was no heat behind the gesture. “What’s your name?”_ _ _ _

____Success._ _ _ _

____"Jeon Jungkook.”_ _ _ _

____“Min Yoongi.” He then asked, “Jeon Jungkook, do you often get into arguments with strangers?”_ _ _ _

____“Only when they’re being dicks.”_ _ _ _

____“You must get into a lot of fights, then. Lots of dicks in the world.”_ _ _ _

____“Most times it’s worth it,” Jungkook said._ _ _ _

____Yoongi was quiet for a moment. “And this time?”_ _ _ _

____Jungkook grinned. “Well I spared myself a boring train ride and got a half-decent conversation partner out of it, so yeah. I’d say worth it.”_ _ _ _

____Jungkook didn’t miss the small smile tug at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. He’d made a friend. Then he glanced around and spotted an honest-to-god lime green iPod Nano in Yoongi’s hand. Overcome with curiosity, he asked, “The hell do you listen to on that thing?”_ _ _ _

____Yoongi just plugged in some headphones and handed him a bud._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Part Three: Jimin  
He was hallucinating again. Maybe. When Jimin normally had hallucinations, they involved water. Something about his seizures reminded him of it, so a feeling of wetness; a vision of the room slowly filling up, came to precede the worst of his episodes. This hallucination wasn’t like that. It was fast. A small but obvious flicker in the corner of his eye. A vision of a human-shaped streak tearing down the platform and tackling someone to the ground. Before Jimin could look back and try to catch another glimpse, the train exited the station and the scene vanished from sight._ _ _ _

____Cautiously, he asked Minjun, “Did you see that?”_ _ _ _

____“See what?” Minjun said, looking up from his cell phone._ _ _ _

____“Nothing.” Jimin responded quickly._ _ _ _

____Minjun put his phone away. “Are you feeling ok?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Jimin said. “I just thought… it’s nothing I’m fine.”_ _ _ _

____Minjun wasn’t buying it. “Did you have a hallucina--”_ _ _ _

____Jimin interjected, “No, I didn’t. I saw something on the platform and didn’t know what it was, that’s all. Really, Minjun-ssi, I’m fine.”_ _ _ _

____Minjun held his hands up in surrender. “Ok.”_ _ _ _

____Jimin felt bad for snapping. Minjun didn’t deserve that. But he wasn’t ready to give up normal just yet._ _ _ _

____In the pursuit of normal, he’d chosen their seats carefully. In a car that had enough people to be full but not enough to be crowded, seated on the center row with Minjun in the window and Jimin on the aisle. In front of him was a mother and her young son; behind him a pair of old women. Across the aisle was a young man about his age. There was no one in the seat next to him._ _ _ _

____In all honesty, Jimin chose these seats because of him. He looked friendly. Jimin heard him talking on the phone during boarding, a female friend (girlfriend?) on the other side based on his honorifics. She made him laugh and his mouth split into the biggest heart-shaped smile. Jimin didn’t know people could smile that wide. Lord knows he never had._ _ _ _

____Jimin wanted to try making friends with him, but several things were holding him back. He hadn’t talked to a stranger that wasn’t a new hospital employee in years. What if he’d forgotten how to talk to normal people? Should he reveal his diagnosis? He’d have to for his dream of keeping contact to come true. Ok, but when? Severe chronic health issues don’t make great ice breakers. How would that even go? _Hello, I’m Park Jimin. Did you know I’ve been an inpatient since I was sixteen and this is the first time I’ve been out in public since I was admitted? Wanna be friends? _Ridiculous.___ _ _ _

______The boy was looking at him. Shit, had Jimin been staring this whole time? He had. God, this was awful. And the boy just kept staring back, something questioning in his eyes. Probably wondering why this weird kid _wouldn’t stop looking at him holy FUCK Park Jimin LOOK AWAY. _____ _ _ _ _

________But he didn’t. And neither did the boy. Was he… was he going to talk to Jimin? Oh goodness, he was. The boy began to open his mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Nope. He couldn’t do this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jimin stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced to Minjun, then high-tailed it to the vestibule._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He took his time in there, sitting down on the toilet with his head between his knees trying to calm his racing heart. God, he was pathetic. He had everything he wanted right there within reach but chickened out before anything could come of it. If the boy didn’t think he was weird thanks to all the staring, his sudden flight had certainly cemented that impression. God forbid I actually feel normal for once. Making a friend had been a pipe dream anyway. There’s no way anybody could care about him that much, unless they were getting paid._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sighing, Jimin stood. Out of habit, he turned on the sink and washed his hands. This really was going to be his reality. A lifetime spent staring at four white walls, talking to no one except doctors and nurses and orderlies about nothing but his illness. He’d become a nonentity. Nothing but a walking diagnosis._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Maybe he should just stick his head in the sink and end it right there._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Yeah, right. _Jimin thought. _Because that worked last time. ______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Turning off the tap, Jimin didn’t even bother to dry his hands before yanking the bathroom door open. A hand immediately grabbed his wrist, pushing up the sleeve and revealing the hospital ID bracelet underneath._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I knew it!” it was the boy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jimin snatched his hand back and retreated into the stall. Was he that obvious? Was he that obviously an absolute basket case the boy could figure it out within five minutes and zero words of dialogue? And then think it’d just be okay to barge in and confirm his theory? Well fuck this guy! Jimin might not be normal, not by a long shot, but that didn’t mean he needed to take shit from ableist jerks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Yah, and what’s it to you?” he shot back, “It’s none of your fucking business!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The boy’s eyes went wide, as if realizing the extent of Jimin’s anger. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” he stammered, “I promise I didn’t mean it like that!” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle, which he tossed to Jimin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jimin read the label. Ritalin, prescribed to one Jung Hoseok by Dr. Yi Hana. Wait, Yi Hana? That was the name of Jimin’s neurologist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I just thought I recognized you from Asan Medical. I was there about a year ago? That guy who passed out--”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“On the bridge,” Jimin finished, finally recognizing the person in front of him. Like Hoseok said, it had been about a year ago. Jimin had been wandering around the hospital, as he often did, and saw a gurney being wheeled past, the boy on it bleeding profusely from a cut on his scalp. He hadn’t thought much of it until a week later, when he had an appointment with Dr. Yi and saw that same boy in the waiting room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He asked one of his nurses about it later. He was curious as to why someone who came in with an acute head injury was seeing a neurologist. She wouldn’t give his name but told Jimin he’d collapsed while walking on a bridge, which the doctors determined was due to narcolepsy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Yeah,” Hoseok said, unconsciously rubbing at the small scar on his forehead. “I’m doing a lot better now. How about you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Jimin handed Hoseok his pills back. “Same as I was back then, really. Transferring to a new hospital in Daejeon,” he answered truthfully. He’d considered lying, but decided it’d be okay not to. What’s a harsh medical truth between two disabled kids, right?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Oh,” Hoseok responded, understandably awkward. “Do you want to talk about it?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Not really.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“That’s fine!” Hoseok said quickly. He flashed his heart shaped smile and continued, “We can talk about something else! But we should probably move. We’re blocking the bathrooms.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Remembering where they were, Jimin finally stepped out of the bathroom. He let Hoseok lead the way back to their seats. When the reached the correct aisle, Hoseok slid into his seat by the window. Jimin looked to Minjun. He was on the phone, probably with Dr. Oh, Jimin’s PCP. Before Jimin could overthink it, he made a choice and sat down next to Hoseok._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I don’t know about you, but I watch a lot of primetime drama. Have you seen _Itaewon Class? _”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Part Four: Taehyung  
They’d made it. Onto the train at least. Which a part of Taehyung honestly didn’t expect to accomplish. After Tae-eul revealed their ticket to freedom, the siblings sprung into action. Taehyung packed their bags with their clothes, toiletries, and some non-perishable food items while Tae-eul… Tae-eul cleaned up his mess._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He couldn’t watch her do it, unable to let his eyes linger on the corpse. But from sideways glances as he moved back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen, he caught a rough sketch of her process. She laid their father on the floor, on his back, eyes still staring at nothing. Taking a wet wipe, she carefully cleaned the handle of the bottle still embedded in his chest. With a few careful motions, she removed Taehyung’s fingerprints from the glass. With more wet wipes, she wiped the bloody footprints from when Taehyung finally stepped back from the body. The shoes that made them and the hoodie with blood on its sleeves were brought outside and burned. Their neighborhood was rough enough nobody cared much about small acts of arson. If they were lucky-- and their father’s complete anti-sociability worked in their favor-- nobody would discover the body for a few days. By that time they would have disappeared into Busan._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Busan. When they were kids, the city had been a pipe dream. A story they told themselves to help them forget enough to fall asleep at night. A jewel on the sea, surrounded by beautiful beaches. Nothing like the slum and smog of Seoul. A place they could go and be free._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Now it was really happening. He looked to Tae-eul, seated to his left. She was slumped into the corner, head resting on the window half-asleep. The split on her lip had scabbed over and the bruises deepened from their original red to a deep purple. It would be days before the last thing their father gave her finally disappeared. But when they did, they would be gone forever. Taehyung would make sure of it. Nothing would ever hurt his sister again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Taehyung heard a slight commotion in front of him. He looked up to all pairs of eyes trained on the overhead television screens. It was tuned to KBS, with the banner reading, “Military Deployed to Control Riots.” The screen showed a grim sight; rows of soldiers in black riot gear fighting to hold back a tide of pressing bodies. The camera shifted to show a group of yellow-vested emergency personnel trying to immobilize a man thrashing violently on the ground. If Taehyung didn’t know any better, he’d say the man had rabies. He’d seen a rabid squirrel once, near the railroad tracks. It had been in the end stages of the disease, twitching violently as foam spilled from its small mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“People these days will riot about anything.” The statement came from an older woman, in her fifties or so and obviously moneyed. “In the old days, they’d be re-educated.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Taehyung bit back the urge to tell her she didn’t even know what they were rioting over. That she should keep her trap shut and just because the system worked in her favor with her expensive dye job and designer handbag, doesn’t mean it worked for everyone. If the system worked for everyone Taehyung wouldn’t have had to k--  
He stopped the thought in its tracks. He couldn’t let himself think about that right now. If he thought about it, he’d break down. That couldn’t happen. Not here. Not while Tae-eul still needed him. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Oh my god,” he heard Tae-eul whisper. He looked over to her, meaning to comment on the news. But she wasn’t looking at the tv. She was looking behind them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Following her gaze, Taehyung spotted a bizarre sight. Their car attendant was staggering down the aisle, whimpering loudly and struggling against someone else clung to her back, face buried in her neck. The entire car went quiet as she collapsed in the aisle, no one knowing what to make of the sight. Taehyung heard a horrific tearing-and-spurting sound. Oh god, was that person biting the attendant?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Then the clinging body dislodged, raising its face and revealing a web of black veins across its features, eyes white and glassy, mouth covered in blood. The person-- no, the creature, for there was no way to describe this thing as human-- let out a screeching, bone-chilling roar and launched itself forward, tackling the rich lady who’d spoken up earlier into her seat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Taehyung pushed Tae-eul closer to the window, blocking her with his body. What was that thing? Then, the body on the floor started to twitch. What used to be the car attendant flipped itself over and rose onto four limbs, letting out it’s own horrendous cry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Whatever was going on, they had to get away. They had to get away _now. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs on this chapter: Descriptions of seizure, drug use

Part One: Seokjin

Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Seokjin felt his pocket vibrating. He looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, then took the call in his seat.

“Seokjin-ah?” He heard his father’s voice on the other side. That alone was a surprise.

“Appa-nim?” he asked back.

His father sighed in relief. “You’re ok.”

That confused Seokjin. Not just the content, but the obvious concern. Outward displays of emotion weren’t really his father’s style.

“Yeah, appa, I am,” he replied. “I tried to call you when I got off the plane but you didn’t pick up. I left you a message.”

“Yes, I got it,” he said. “Listen, son, I need to you to follow my instructions carefully. There’s an… outbreak going on across the country. It’s not safe to be most places--”

Seokjin cut in, “An outbreak? Of what?”

Please, Seokjin-ah, just listen to me.” Seokjin shut his mouth, afraid of the fear in his father’s voice. “When you get to Daejeon, they’ll have everyone debark and go to the main square for quarantine. Do not go with everyone else. Head to the East Square; I have someone on the way to pick you up and fly you down to Busan.”

“Appa, what the hell is going on?”

“The East Gate. Remember it, Seokjin. Go to the East Gate.” He hung up. 

Seokjin listened to the dial tone for a few moments, trying to process what just happened. An outbreak? Of what? And so dangerous they couldn’t even continue the KTX trains as normal? Seokjin needed answers. He went on his phone and checked the front page news. “President Moon Addresses Frightened Populace, Violent Incidents Continue to Escalate.”

Seokjin clicked the link and pressed play on the accompanying video.

It featured the president at a press podium, grim faced and serious. “My fellow citizens. We are currently experiencing violent riots in all major cities, resulting in many civilian and police injuries. Riots led to the shutdown of various districts, and the rioters have forcibly attempted to destroy or take government property. For this reason, we’re entering a state of emergency in order to control the current situation.Thanks to our government’s rapid response, various outbreaks are being contained. 

Fellow citizens, please refrain from reacting to baseless rumors and stay in the safety of your homes. We must stay calm and trust the government in order to overcome such a trying obstacle. We believe your safety is not in jeopardy.”

The article went on to thoroughly discredit the president’s story. It had several more embedded videos, each more disturbing than the last. Scenes of rioters with black veins and white eyes screaming bloody murder as they attacked any human in sight. Buildings on fire all across the cityscapes of Ulsan, Gwangju, Daegu, and Seoul. He scanned for any news of Daejeon or Busan, but the article failed to mention those two cities. 

The most horrifying video was shot on a cell phone. The beginning was normal; a group of kids doing skateboard tricks in a parking lot. Then the camera panned up to show a helicopter overhead, listing and jerking as it was weighed down by half a dozen bodies clinging to the landing rails. Then one of the bodies dropped. It landed squarely on the hood of a car next to the skateboarders. The scene would’ve been gory enough, but what Seokjin saw next, he could barely wrap his head around.

The body picked itself off the car, the poor cell microphone just picking up the same throaty growling Seokjin heard in the riot videos. With a dizzying burst of speed, it hit the ground and launched itself at the nearest kid, digging it’s jaws into her neck. 

Seokjin couldn’t watch anymore. He closed his phone and pressed his hands into his eyes. What was happening out there? If he didn’t know any better he’d say it looked like a science fiction movie. At least he and the people on this train were safe. So long as they could make it to Daejeon without incident, they’d be able to hook up with the authorities. Or, at least everyone else would, if Seokjin followed his father’s instructions.

Knowing what he knew now, the entire phone call was suspect. Seokjin’s father had connections and was no doubt being updated on the situation as fast as information was available, but he was able to put together a plan for Seokjin’s extraction to Busan with dizzying speed. And he hadn’t called the incidents riots. He’d called them an outbreak. No one else had done that yet. The video evidence was enough to make Seokjin prefer the latter descriptor to the former, but of what nobody could say. Or dared to say.  
I’ll be safe if I stay on the train, he repeated in his mind. They were going too fast for anybody infected to get on. So long as nothing stopped the train before it reached Daejeon, they would all be ok. I’ll be safe if I stay on the train. 

A few minutes of repeating his mantra later, Seokjin heard a series of sounds. The pounding of feet. The slide of the car door being shoved open. The labored, gasping breathing of two people; a pair of teenagers who looked to be brother and sister. They ran to the front of the car, slumping down against the door opposite their entrance as they tried to catch their breath. 

Seokjin stood up and went over, kneeling down next to the pair. He didn’t fail to catch the immediate guarded expression the boy adopted upon his approach. “What’s going on? Are you guys ok?”

The pair just continued to breathe heavily, until the girl spoke, “At the back of the train. All those people…” she trailed off into a sob. Her brother immediately put his arm around her, pulling her close to him.

“Something happened back in Car 16,” he filled in. “We saw… I don’t know what we saw. Something was attacking the attendant. It… it ate her.”

“And then she became like it,” the girl finished. “They all did. Everyone who didn’t get out of the car in time. They just kept attacking us.”

Seokjin glanced back to watch several more panicked people rush into the car. He left the other passengers to deal with it as he turned back to the siblings. Their tale filled him in on a few things. First off, whatever this outbreak was, it was highly contagious. Secondly, it made its victims violent and aggressive within minutes if not seconds of infection. That knowledge made Seokjin feel less bad about surreptitiously checking the pair’s exposed skin for any bites or blood. He was relieved to find both of them relatively clean, though the thinness he saw in their wrists concerned him in other ways. 

More passengers entered the car. Their pounding footfalls and labored breathing forced Seokjin to finally confront the last fact he’d learned.

The train was no longer safe.

Part Two: Hoseok

“And then she rolled her ankle and I had to piggyback her to the Emergency Room.”

“No,” Jimin breathed, enraptured by Hoseok’s story.

“Yes,” Hoseok countered. “And it was pouring down raining. She felt so bad after she bought me TXT tickets.”

“You like them?” Jimin asked.

“I like their concept,” Hoseok answered. “None of them have set roles. It frees them up to be unexpected. That and I would kill to work with their choreographers.”

“Their dances are very unique,” Jimin agreed. 

Hoseok realized he’d been leading the conversation for a while. “What about you? Do you have a favorite dance group?”

Jimin considered the question. “It’s hard to say, really. I can’t pick a favorite. Everyone has such unique concepts, it’s hard to compare. I do like the more balletic, modern dance ones a lot, though. I’ve always wanted to try something like that.”

The answer to the unspoken question hung between them. Jimin hadn’t tried it yet, maybe never would, because of his inpatient restrictions. But maybe he could get around them.

“Tell you what,” Hoseok said, “When you get settled in Daejeon, give me a call. If I make the audition I’ll be moving there too. I can come by on the weekends and teach you.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide. “You’d… you’d come visit me?”

“Of course,” Hoseok said. It wasn’t lost on him the subtle disconnect between his offer and Jimin’s expectation. Hoseok had offered dance lessons. Jimin was happy just having a visitor. His heart wrenched. What had this poor kid been through, that the thought of just having a friend put such hope in his eyes? Hoseok knew Jimin was lonely at his last hospital, but to what extent? 

Before Hoseok could dwell on it too long, his attention was pulled into the aisle, where an attendant was rushing past, shouting, “Excuse me,” over and over. Was something happening in the cars further back? He watched as the attendant made his way to the vestibule, where some kind of commotion was going on. 

The attendant pulled open the door.

Then all Hell broke loose.

The sounds of screams and growls filled the car, and Hoseok pulled Jimin away from the aisle as a pair of teenagers barrelled past, several other passengers following behind them. He looked down the car. The attendant had fallen back, scrambling away from a passenger crawling towards him. With a burst of inhuman speed, the passenger launched forward and chomped down on hand. The attendant screamed and wrenched his hand away. Finally getting his feet under him, the attendant ran back up the aisle, pulling passengers from their seats and telling them to run for the front cars.

Jimin’s medical attendant-- Minjun, he’d called him-- appeared out of nowhere. He gripped Jimin’s shoulder and said, “We need to run!” Without any more preamble, he pulled Jimin from the seat and pushed him forward, staying close behind. Hoseok scrambled to follow and stuck close to Minjun’s back. He should’ve focused on getting away, but against his better judgement, he looked behind.

What he saw there was burned into his brain forever. He saw a passenger splayed out in the aisle, twitching violently as blood spurted out of their neck. They continued to thrash around as black veins crept up their face, then flipped over on their stomach, using the seats to pull themselves to their feet. The passenger raised its head and revealed a visage only describable as undead. It let out a bone-chilling screech and started lurching forward. 

Hoseok turned around and ran even faster. 

The next few cars passed in a blur. Passengers who had yet to get with the program gawked at them as they barrelled past, but Hoseok was only concerned with getting himself and the two people in front of him to safety. In one vestibule Hoseok saw an attendant trying to pull an undead from a victim while another passenger yelled at him to keep moving, but the trio didn’t stick around long enough to know if the passenger was successful. He kept an ear focused behind him, terrified of every inhuman growl and scream and hoping beyond all hope that they were getting further away and not closer. Still, no matter how far they ran, Hoseok could still hear it. 

They were close. Only two more cars between them and the front, and the next one was empty. Halfway down the aisle, Hoseok bumped into Minjun’s back. He’d stopped. Hoseok peeked around his shoulder and saw what the issue was. One of the undead had gotten in front of them, someone that got bit while running and turned on the way. A bolt of ice went through his core as he realized it was the attendant from their old car, the one that had everyone run. Hoseok remembered-- he’d been bitten on the hand. 

And now he was blocking their escape. Hoseok didn’t think. He moved. He twisted past Minjun and Jimin as the undead lunged forward, rushing the creature himself. When they collided, Hoseok grabbed the undead by the shoulders, and shoved it sideways into the seats, narrowly avoiding its poisonous jaws. The momentum of the action had him falling into the opposite row. His breath left his body as his back slammed against the seats, and he stayed there, unable to breathe much less stand up. 

Sound left the room and was replaced by the racing of his heart. He had to stand up. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. His mind returned to the incident on the bridge. He hadn’t been able to move then, either. 

Hoseok felt a hand wrap around his and pull. He lurched to his feet and locked eyes with Jimin. The boy had pulled him up. He’d pulled him out. Before Hoseok could speak, Minjun shoved them both forward and they kept running. One more car. One more car before they were safe. 

He heard a thud on the wall next to him. He looked and saw Jimin slumped against the bathroom door. His arms and legs were twitching. Hoseok’s stomach dropped. No. Not Jimin. Anybody but Jimin. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be bitten. He didn’t deserve to become one of those mindless killing things. 

But they still had to run. He and Minjun needed to live, even if Jimin was doomed and Hoseok’s heart shattered at the thought. He grabbed Minjun’s arm and begun pulling. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Minjun yelled, and yanked his arm away.

“We have to go before he turns,” Hoseok said, voice pitifully small.

“He didn’t get bit, he’s having a seizure!” Without further explanation, Minjun took hold of Jimin and guided him to the floor. Hoseok heard him whisper, “Two pumps nasal midazolam,” then inserted a nasal spray bottle into one nostril, then the other.

Hoseok recognized the medication. It was a benzodiazepine, which was a nervous system depressant. If it worked it would stop Jimin’s seizure, or at least reduce the severity. Hoseok watched for a few moments, acutely aware of the passage of time and the advancing horde of undead.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Hoseok asked, leg shaking with impatience.

Minjun sighed. “He can be moved but he’s technically still seizing. When he has a petit mal like this he checks out mentally. Too many random brain impulses to stay properly conscious.”

“But he can be moved?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok crouched down in front of Jimin and slug his arms over his shoulders. Minjun caught on to his plan and helped him move Jimin onto his back. Hoseok wrapped his hands around Jimin’s thighs and slowly rose to standing, adjusting to the added weight. When he was steady, he offered a nod to Minjun, and they took off; Hoseok within Jimin in front, Minjun at the rear. 

They cleared the final car, blessedly empty, and entered Car 3, where a large number of fleeing passengers had congregated. Wasting no time on politeness, Hoseok shouted, “I need a seat!” 

A boy around his age, probably a year or two older, stood up and offered his chair. Hoseok gently deposited Jimin’s unconscious form and stepped back, allowing Minjun space to monitor his patient.

“What happened to him?” The older boy asked gently.

Before Hoseok could answer, a teenager-- which Hoseok recognized as the first person out of Car 16-- shouted, “You didn’t bring a bitten in here, did you?!”

His shout caught the attention of the surrounding passengers, setting off a wave of panicked chatter. Shit, the last thing they needed was more panic. Past a certain level of fear, nobody could be trusted to act rationally. Hoseok needed to put a stop to it now.

“Of course not,” he responded loudly. “He has a seizure disorder; he had a petit mal while we were running.”

“You sure about that?” the teenager countered.

“Taehyung!” the other teenager, a girl, interrupted. “Why would he lie?”

That seemed to calm Taehyung down. He mumbled an “I’m sorry,” then regained his seat. 

“Hoseok,” Minjun said, bringing his attention back to his two companions. “Can you keep an eye on Jimin for a moment? I need to call the hospital.”

Hoseok nodded and replaced Minjun in the seat next to Jimin. Now that he was no longer running for his life, the adrenaline in him drained out, leaving him feeling weak and shaky. He needed a dose. He dug through his pockets and found his pill bottle, still there from his first conversation with Jimin by the bathroom. He was grateful it ended up there, unlike most of his other stuff still in the overhead compartment of Car 15. 

He took a dose dry, pushing past the uncomfortable feeling of the tablet worming its way down his throat and waiting for the effects to kick in. He was just starting to feel normal again when he felt a buzz in his back pocket. His phone had miraculously survived their flight without falling out. 

Hoseok checked the caller ID. Hyejin. He picked up without further hesitation. “Hyejin! I’m so glad you called! Are you safe?”

“Are you?” she asked in lieu of answering.

“For now,” Hoseok answered. “There was an outbreak on the train, but we’re safe for now.”

Hyejin didn’t speak for several moments. Only a handful of small, choked sounds coming across the gap. Hoseok realized she was crying. “Hobi,” she whispered.

“Jinnie? What’s wrong?”

Hyejin let out a massive sob. “I just… I needed to tell you I love you.”

I love you. How many times had Hoseok thought about saying those words, but never let them leave his mouth? How many times had he tried to tell her in other ways, with the motion of his lips or surprise tubs of her favorite ice cream? With the looks they exchanged when dancing as partners no matter what the concept called for? With nights spent on the roof of the studio searching for glimpses of stars past the glow of the street lamps? By carrying her through the rain when she needed his help? With the ring he had stored in his sock drawer that he planned to open at the TXT concert next month.

“I love you, too,” he said, finally letting the words out, and meaning them with every bit of his heart. But he had to know. “Jinnie, what’s happening?”

“I love you, Hoseok,” she repeated, then repeated it over and over again until, like the roar of an airplane slicing through a still morning, she began choke. Then she began to growl.

Hoseok hung up the phone. And then he broke.

Part Three: Yoongi

Yoongi didn’t know much about Jeon Jungkook-- he’d only met him half an hour ago-- but what he did know was that the kid liked to talk. And he was opinionated. Very opinionated. When Yoongi handed him the earbud, he hadn’t expected to have his music library subjected to such intense and intelligent scrutiny. That said, he had jumped around a lot, sampling widely and putting together an eclectic but emblematic playlist of Yoongi’s various moods. Everything from underground rap to American classic rock, a smattering of world music from Latin America and the Middle East, and a few older kpop songs people liked to call “iconic.” 

Jungkook had thoughts on all of it. The things he knew already he tended to jam to quietly, with just a few little comments here and there. But on new material, he focused, offering observations on tone, rhythm, instrumentation, and vocal ability. Frankly it impressed Yoongi. He couldn’t speak to Jungkook’s more subjective opinions-- music taste was music taste and everyone’s was different-- but most of his objective comments were spot on. It wasn’t often he met somebody so well-versed in the nuts and bolts of music.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced after the latest track finished. When he stood up, Jungkook fixed him with an accusatory glance. Yoongi rolled his eyes, “To piss.”

He kept his word and went to the vestibule with only the intended function of a train bathroom in mind. When he finished and stepped out, Jungkook was waiting for him.

“Seriously?”

“It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” Jungkook said. “But--”

“But what?” 

Jungkook’s mouth hardened into a thin line as he thought of his next words. “If you got caught again they’d probably make you get off the train. I didn’t want that to happen.”

What was this kid’s deal? Why did he care so much about whether or not Yoongi suffered the consequences of his bad decisions?

“I don’t need you minding me like some nanny,” Yoongi growled. “What I do is none of your business.”

“Yoongi-sunbae--” Jungkook began, but as he spoke Yoongi heard a loud thud in the car behind them. He held up a hand and bade Jungkook to be quiet. The thud happened again, this time accompanied by several frightened shouts. 

“Stay here,” Yoongi said, and stepped through the open door into the car. 

As soon as he entered, several people rushed past him, whimpering in fear as they fled towards the front of the train. What the hell? He looked down the aisle and spotted another group of passengers running through. Most continued on like the first, but one man stumbled, clutching his neck and falling into an empty seat. He began seizing. Before anybody could react, something came tearing out of the vestibule and latch on to the nearest human, burying its face into the flesh of her shoulder. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor, the assaulting thing clinging tighter as it rent muscle from bone in a spray of blood. 

A throaty scream tore Yoongi’s attention away from the doomed woman. It came from the man that had collapsed. He wasn’t seizing anymore. He was standing, rising on unsteady feet while black veins crept up his face and his eyes glazed over in a white haze. His hand fell off his neck and exposed an angry bite mark imprinted into the side of it. It looked like it came from a human. 

Yoongi froze, trying to process the gory scene in front of him. Was this even real? Had he finally lost it just enough to have daytime delusions of an apocalypse instead of just dreams? But the worlds of his dreams collapsed into flames, not undeath. No, there was no other option. What was happening in front of him was very, very real. 

The bitten man’s eyes locked onto his. With a terrifying growl, the thing that could no longer be described as a man lurched forward, heading straight towards him. 

Yoongi ran. He turned on his heel and retreated into the vestibule, pulling a terrified Jungkook along with him. Together they tore through their car, ignoring the confused passengers as they raced away from the scene at their backs. When they reached the next vestibule, Yoongi noticed the attendant who had caught him smoking earlier. He remembered the man’s nametag read “Kim Namjoon.” Namjoon was speaking into his walkie talkie, pounding on the side when he didn’t get the response he was hoping for, completely oblivious to the danger just thirty meters behind them and closing. 

Yoongi didn’t know why he did it, but as they passed the hapless attendant, Yoongi reached out and snatched his arm, pulling Namjoon along with him.

“What are you doing?” Namjoon shouted.

“Just fucking run!” Yoongi shouted back. 

Namjoon took a fleeting glance behind them, eyes growing wide. He’d spotted what Yoongi and Jungkook were running from. He removed his arm from Yoongi’s grip and took up a spot in the rear. They ripped through the next few cars with Jungkook leading, Yoongi in the middle, and Namjoon behind. That was fine by Yoongi. If anybody deserved to get out of this alive it was the kid. 

They would’ve made it to safety like that had it not been for Namjoon. Or, more accurately, his stupid penchant for helping. That human impulse that defied self-preservation in favor of the survival of others. At least in people who hadn’t had to survive at the cost of others. People like Namjoon, who could still give parts of themselves. Who couldn’t just walk past a person in need.

In one of the vestibules near the front of the train, they came across a passenger splayed out on the floor, fighting off a creature that was trying to bite into him. Yoongi pushed Jungkook past and made to continue on. He would have, had he not heard Namjoon’s voice come from an uncomfortably large distance away.

“Get off him!” he shouted. Yoongi looked back to see Namjoon trying to pry the savage beast from the fallen passenger. That moron was going to get himself killed.

Yoongi pushed Jungkook forward and yelled, “Keep going!”

Jungkook stumbled forward a few steps before turning around and saying, “What about you?”

“Jeon Jungkook put your head down and fucking RUN!” Yoongi shoved Jungkook again, and this time he complied. 

He refocused his attention on Namjoon. The man was crouched over the creature, hands scrabbling at its shoulders in an attempt to pull it off the struggling passenger. Yoongi went over and wrapped his own hands around Namjoon’s shoulders, yanking him away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yoongi grunted into Namjoon’s ear.

“I had to help!” Namjoon retorted.

“You’re gonna get us both killed!”

“You didn’t have to stay and help me!”

Yoongi didn’t have any time to think on Namjoon’s statement. Because as he said it, the creature lost interest in what was beneath it and looked up, flat gaze intent on the pair of them. Before either of them could react, it lunged. On instinct, Yoongi wrapped his hands around the creature’s throat, pushing with everything he had to keep those jaws from closing in on him. From this distance, Yoongi could smell the sweet metallic tang of blood and rot coming from its ruined mouth. 

He needed a plan. And he needed one fast. But thankfully Yoongi had gained a lot of experience with KTX vestibules in his short time aboard. He walked backward, maintaining a delicate balance of letting the creature speed things along without letting it get within biting distance. 

“Open the bathroom door,” he ground out through gritted teeth. This thing was strong. 

Namjoon caught on to his plan and slipped past them, yanking the stall to the men’s restroom open. When Yoongi and the creature were level with the new opening, Namjoon took hold of the creature’s collar, and together they forced it into the stall, slamming the door shut. 

They stood there for a few moments, catching their breath. But their respite didn’t last long. They heard an all too familiar growl coming from the original fallen passenger, and looked to see it flip onto all fours, eyes white. 

Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged a glance. Then they started running. In their delay, the hoard of creatures from the back cars had gained on them. The sound of screams and growls was deafening, and the one ill-conceived glance Yoongi spared to his back revealed a wall of death behind them, creatures pushing forward against each other until they rose in a tide of undead bodies, all bearing down with the single intention of killing. 

But before long, the end was in sight. Just a few more feet of train and that last short vestibule and they would be ok.

Then the door shut. Yoongi and Namjoon slammed into the glass divider separating them from safety. He locked eyes with the perpetrator of their demise; a skinny teenager around Jungkook’s age. 

Jungkook. Yoongi searched the sea of passengers behind the glass. He breathed a sight of relief as his gaze met tear-filled doe eyes. Thank God, Yoongi thought. At least he’s safe.

And Yoongi resigned himself to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a good cliffhanger. And I know that I set this in 2016 and TXT didn't debut until 2019 but it's my AU and I get to pick the continuity errors!


	5. Uncertainties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm sorry about this ridiculously long hiatus; my last semester of college really started kicking my ass and I lost all motivation to write. But seeing you guys comment and express your interest in this story got me motivated again. So I apologize for that unacceptably drawn out cliffhanger and present EVEN MORE ANGST. It ain't a HYYH zombie fic for nothing.

Part One: Jungkook  
He made it. Jungkook could focus on nothing else but the sound of his footfalls hitting the aisle floor, the ragged in and out of his breathing, and the pounding of blood in his ears ever since Yoongi had forced him to go on alone. He couldn’t focus on anything else. If he did, he might’ve stopped.

But he didn’t. And now Jungkook was slumped in one of the few spare seats of Car 3, waiting it out until his breath evened and he could let go of the adrenaline high. But he couldn’t relax entirely. Not yet. Yoongi and Namjoon were still out there. 

Jungkook kept his eyes locked on the car entrance, scanning every group of stragglers for a blue sport coat or yellow flannel. No one was wearing either. Jungkook’s worry was distracted somewhat by the appearance of three people; one of whom was slumped over another’s back, passed out. He watched as the piggybacker laid the unconscious boy on a nearby seat, then step back to allow the third man access. 

His curiosity was echoed in the question of another passenger; an older boy who’d been making rounds among the refugees. Jungkook overheard him introduce himself as Seokjin. 

Seokjin asked, “What happened to him?”

Before the boy could speak, a skinny teenager piped up, “You didn’t bring a bitten in here, did you?!”

The question froze Jungkook’s core as his world shrunk down to the unconscious youth. The boy hadn’t, had he? God, please say he hadn’t. This was supposed to be a safe place. He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t die without knowing. He hadn’t come this far, left everything behind, to die a violent death and watch his corpse shamble around in a disgusting imitation of life. 

“Of course not,” the boy’s voice cut through Jungkook’s panic. “He has a seizure disorder; he had a petit mal while we were running.”

The knot in Jungkook’s chest loosened. He realized now that he’d been spiralling into paranoia. But who could blame him? The world around him was literally falling apart. 

And Yoongi wasn’t here yet. 

The teenager made to continue the argument, but a word from his companion silenced further protest. Jungkook took a good look at him. The girl with him had called him Taehyung. Taehyung was young, maybe Jungkook’s age or a little older, but his parts didn’t match. His thin, lanky frame spoke to youth; the beanpole-shaped upward growth that hadn’t yet filled out with adult muscle. But his face seemed much older. 

Jungkook could almost chalk it up to the situation. They had all just run for their lives and weren’t out of the woods yet. But the way Taehyung positioned himself in his seat, using his narrow shoulders to form a block in front of the girl in the other seat… he had known this kind of fear before. And so had the girl with him. Nobody got that kind of bruising on their face by falling down or running into something. Jungkook had gotten into enough fights to know what a right cross looks like the day after. 

“Can somebody close the door?” an all-too-familiar voice cut through the quiet murmuring of the remaining passengers. That nasty businessman. Jungkook rolled his eyes. Of all the people to survive, he had to be one of them?

Jungkook immediately regretted the thought. The man might be awful, but nobody deserved to die like that.

Taehyung stood up and went to the car entrance, as if he’d been waiting for somebody to give him permission. As he walked, Jungkook took stock of the car’s contents. The trickle of passengers had stopped. He desperately looked around, but he couldn’t find them. They weren’t here yet.

“Wait!” he yelled to Taehyung. All eyes in the car went to him. Suddenly shy from the attention, he stuttered, “M-my friends are still out there.”

“Your friends are dead by now,” Taehyung said. 

No. No they weren’t. Jungkook couldn’t accept that. They would make it. “Just a few more minutes, please.”

“Are you crazy?” the businessman interjected. “They’ll be on us any minute, you little runt! What makes you think your friends are more important than everyone else?”

“Hey, that’s highly unnecessary,” Seokjin cut in, moving closer to Jungkook.

The businessman rolled his eyes. “Just close the door!”

“Don’t!” Jungkook pleaded. 

Taehyung made to slam the door shut, but it resisted him. While he fumbled with the manual override, Jungkook spotted something down in Car 4. Motion. Figures running. Two figures running. 

“There they are!” he shouted, the ice in his chest melting at the sight of Yoongi and Namjoon. He was so elated they were alive he almost failed to notice the swarm of undead close at their heels. But they would make it they would make it just fine so long as--

“Close the goddamn door!”

Taehyung pushed the door shut.

Jungkook screamed. He made to launch himself forward, rip open the door himself, but strong arms wrapped around his torso and held him back. Seokjin might have tried to talk to him, but Jungkook wasn’t listening. He was shouting, desperately trying to convince Taehyung to let them in let them in please or they’ll die. 

Through tears, he locked eyes with Yoongi on the other side of the glass. He looked so calm. Why did he look so calm? Please, he thought. I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you already.

The horde was advancing. Any moment now they’d be on top of them. 

The door opened. Taehyung pulled it just a crack, allowing Yoongi and Namjoon to slip through. As the last of Namjoon’s body cleared the gap, so too did an arm. Taehyung slammed the door into it, desperately trying to keep it from being forced back open. Namjoon joined him, throwing his own weight into the fight.

Jungkook felt Seokjin’s arms release as he slipped past and locked his hand around the interloping wrist, pushing it out as Yoongi threw a well-placed kick into the face of another creature trying to crawl in. Obstacles cleared, Taehyung and Namjoon finally succeeded in closing the door. 

But then there was the question of keeping it closed. The undead were swarming, pounding on the door and throwing themselves against it. The shrieks and growls from their ruined throats loud even through the plexiglass barrier. Taehyung looked around desperately. Everybody instinctively knew they couldn’t hold it shut indefinitely. 

Suddenly, Seokjin spoke up, “Let go of the door.”

Taehyung fixed him with a puzzled look, but now that Seokjin had pointed it out, Jungkook noticed it too. Despite the bloodthirsty horde on the other side, the door handle wasn’t moving. 

“I don’t think they can open it,” Seokjin explained. 

Slowly, Taehyung released his grip. The door stayed shut.

“They’re attacking because they can see us,” Namjoon said, half to himself. 

Jungkook spotted some newspaper on a nearby seat. When he was younger, Jungkook found an abandoned shed on his stepfather’s property. The interior had been cleared out, so he had no idea what it was once used for, but judging from the dust nobody had been inside in years. He’d turned it into his personal hideout, complete with a cheap projector so he could watch movies on the back wall. He didn’t have blackout paint or any way to buy it, so to keep the glare down he covered the windows with layers of newspaper. Wasn’t perfect, but it definitely blocked line of sight.

Jungkook grabbed the newspaper and a spare bottle of water. He went to work throwing water into the glass and wallpapering it with the thin sheets. Namjoon and Seokjin caught his drift and stepped in to help. They had just enough newspaper to cover all three panes. When they finished, the noise on the other side died down. The horde, without any targets, became a herd.

Finally, they were safe.

Part Two: Taehyung

“Yah, you little asshole!” was all the warning Taehyung got before he was shoved against a seat. He turned around to find one of the stragglers he’d let in-- the one in the yellow flannel-- looming over him, eyes flashing.

“Don’t you think you owe us an apology? You nearly killed us.”

Taehyung gritted his teeth. He’d let them in, hadn’t he? Who cares about almost? “You’re alive to yell at me, aren’t you?”

“You slammed the fucking door in our faces!” he shot back. 

“Excuse me if you’re not the center of my universe!” That title belonged to Tae-eul. If he had thought for a second letting those two in would allow the undead access, he wouldn’t have done what he did. He almost hadn’t, anyway. But the way that kid was crying… even Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to be so heartless. 

The other boy balled up his fist and snarled. Was he going to try and punch Taehyung? Memories of his childhood bubbled up at the thought. Fractured ribs and bloody knuckles and bruises everywhere they wouldn’t be spotted. Glass bottles and bloodstained footprints. Taehyung had paid the ultimate price defending himself once. He was prepared to do it again. 

Taehyung got ready to fight. But before he could move, his view was blocked by a wall of blue. The other straggler-- one of the car attendants-- stepped between the two of them. “Sir, this isn’t helping anything.”

“I don’t want to hear shit from you, Namjoon-ah!” yellow flannel spat. “If it weren’t for me you’d be out there with the rest of them.”

“Yoongi-sunbae,” a new voice joined in. It belonged to the crying kid. He called this guy-- Yoongi, apparently-- sunbae and not hyung? Taehyung had assumed they were a lot closer than the honorific suggested, based on the kid’s earlier hysterics. “Just sit down. Please.”

The tension in Yoongi’s shoulders drained out. He sighed and threw a parting glance at Taehyung, then moved down the aisle. Taehyung expected that to be the end of it, but before he could escape to the back of the car, he was blocked by Namjoon.

“Are you ok?” the attendant asked. 

What? Of all the things he could say to Taehyung… he asked if he was ok? 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

Namjoon smiled wryly, a deep dimple appearing on his cheek. “I wouldn’t say I’m happy with you.”

Taehyung understood. God, why hadn’t he just left the door open? Obviously there was enough time for Yoongi and Namjoon to get in before the horde descended. But everyone was screaming different things at him. He couldn’t concentrate. He acted on impulse, survivor’s instinct dictating the assured safety of the many over the uncertain salvation of the few. 

But he’d almost killed two people. Two more people. What was he turning into? When had he stopped caring about other people? When had he become capable of letting them die? God, he was so selfish. He shouldn’t be trusted with lives. There was too much darkness in him, too much pain and rage and he couldn’t guarantee he’d ever be able to make the right decision. He couldn’t be a good person. He wasn’t a good person. Good people don’t k--

“But I’m not mad at you.”

Taehyung snapped back to the present moment. “You… you’re not mad?”

“Nobody should have to make that kind of decision. Least of all a teenager. I can’t blame you for making a snap judgement under that much pressure,” Namjoon said. 

“I almost killed you.”

“No you didn’t.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes at the pedantry. “I almost left you to die.”

“Almost.”

“Stop being so calm!” Taehyung shouted. He couldn’t take this. Namjoon should be angry, like Yoongi. Should be up in his face punishing him for his mistakes. 

“Angry doesn’t fix anything,” Namjoon said. 

Angry had fixed a lot for Taehyung. Or at least, it had changed the equation. If Taehyung hadn’t gotten angry, he and Tae-eul would still be in Seoul and more than likely dead. On the train they maybe had a chance. 

“Angry has its place,” Taehyung countered.

“Not here,” Namjoon said. “Christ, why are you so resistant to forgiveness?”

“Why are you so willing to give it?”

Namjoon paused. He looked at the floor and chewed on his cheek. Finally, he said, “You remind me of somebody I used to know.”

Operative words there being “used to.” Of course. This wasn’t even about Taehyung. It was about Namjoon and his own old guilt. Well, Taehyung was done being an emotional surrogate. 

“Then take your shit up with them.” 

Taehyung brushed past Namjoon and walked down the aisle. He looked around the press of bodies trying to find Tae-eul. She wasn’t where he left her. Taehyung finally spotted her, crouched on her knees half in the aisle, arms wrapped around the boy who piggybacked his friend into the car. He was bent double in Tae-eul’s embrace, face buried in her neck. He was sobbing. Huge, terrible sobs that jerked his entire body in their force. But he wasn’t loud. If Taehyung hadn’t been looking for Tae-eul, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the boy crying.

He spared a glance at the companion. Still passed out. Taehyung envied him a little; his convenient, if temporary, unawareness of the horde just meters and a clear line of sight away from devouring them all. He himself wasn’t going to sleep for a week. 

As Taehyung got closer, he heard Tae-eul whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Hoseok,” as she gently rubbed his back. Trust his sister to find herself in a caretaker role. Old habits die hard. Taehyung watched them for a few moments, until Hoseok’s sobs started to die down. 

“Tae-eul-ah,” he said, keeping his voice soft. 

Tae-eul looked up, and Hoseok started at the change. He took stock of Taehyung and said, “Go ahead. I… I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Tae-eul asked. 

Hoseok nodded and pulled out of her embrace, slumping back into his seat as if he had no energy left to keep himself upright. With all the crying he’d done, Taehyung wasn’t surprised. He’d have a stuffed nose for another few minutes and a headache that would last at least another ten, not to mention a bunch of sticky tear-stains down his cheeks. 

Tae-eul stood and Taehyung put an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to a slightly more private location.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“What’s his deal?” Taehyung dodged.

Tae-eul sighed. “His girlfriend died. Bitten. That’s all I could get out of him.”

Taehyung sucked in a breath. Part of him felt sorry for Hoseok. The other part of him felt resentment for him dragging Tae-eul into his mess.

“You know you didn’t have to get involved.”

“Would you stop this?” Tae-eul asked, throwing her hands in exasperation.

Taehyung blinked a few times. “Stop what?”

“Ever since… yesterday, you’ve been stuck in the whole ‘protective big brother’ act. It’s not helping anything.”

“We almost died twenty minutes ago,” Taehyung countered. “I’m just worried about your safety.”

“And I appreciate that. I really do. But I’m not some delicate little daisy that can’t take a hardship, you know that. I don’t appreciate you standing in front of me like everyone else is a threat. If anything we need to form some connections.”

“Connections? What for?”

“The plan is blown, oppa. There’s nothing left for us anywhere. Someone on board might be our best chance for getting out of this alive.”

Taehyung paused for a moment. A part of him smarted at her implication that they couldn’t figure things out together like they always had, but that was tempered by the memory of those blank, whited eyes staring at him. Normal Hell they could deal with. They had always dealt with it. But Undead Hell? Tae-eul had a point. 

“What do you think we should do?”

Tae-eul reached into the backpack she’d been holding onto since they boarded. A habit both of them shared after having their things stolen on public transport one too many times. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about scared, insecure people,” she said, pulling out a box of granola bars Taehyung had packed, “The best thing you can do is take care of them a little.”

Taehyung watched as his sister went around the train car, offering their food to the other terrified passengers. He noticed that she paid extra attention to certain people: Namjoon, Seokjin, and the businessman who’d been screaming at him to close the doors. Smart girl, he realized. All three of those men were in positions of authority. Namjoon for being the only employee, (and thus having a line to the conductor) the businessman for his obvious external influence, and Seokjin for his money. Because there was no mistaking the older boy as anything else. The phone he constantly checked only came out last month, and his shoes, though plain white sneakers, were spotless and brand name. Kim Seokjin had money. And at least a fair bit of it.

And he was proving fairly good in a crisis. When Taehyung and Tae-eul first landed in this car, Seokjin was the first person to ask them what had happened. And since then had devoted his time to calming down the panicked refugees and establishing some sense of order; making sure older or infirm people had seats, accommodating more and more people into the tight space, and generally doing his best to keep everyone somewhat calm. Or at least not outright panicking. 

In fact, Seokjin’s efficiency made Taehyung suspicious. He didn’t seem to be flailing around like the rest of them. He was a little more sure; a little quicker to offer an encouraging word than someone abruptly confronted with the threat of undeath should be. That meant he knew something.

When Tae-eul moved on to less strategic targets, Taehyung moved in. Seokjin had denied the offer of food but had stilled, checking his phone once again.

Using that as an opportunity, Taehyung asked, “Do you know what’s going on out there?”

Seokjin looked up, eyes glassy before snapping out of his daze. “It’s… it’s not good,” he answered carefully.

“How bad?”

Again, Seokjin hesitated.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat with me,” Taehyung assured. “I need to know.”

Seokjin bobbed his head, inviting Taehyung closer to look at the screen. It was open to a news site playing an embedded video. Seokjin had it muted, but the images in the background told him everything he needed to know.

Chaos. Pure chaos. Taehyung caught glimpses of fires across city skylines, of hordes of undead like the ones just outside the car, but massive in number. So many it was difficult to see individual monsters within the sea of bodies. 

“They’re everywhere,” Seokjin said. “And there’s nothing anybody can do. The military’s trying to secure areas in the big cities but they aren’t having much success.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“Well, it looks like Busan and Daejeon are mostly okay. KTX website said they’re going to have all passengers debark at Daejeon for quarantine.”

“Quarantine?”

“Yeah, I don’t really get it either. It’s pretty obvious when someone’s infected, right?”

Taehyung recalled images of black veins and dead eyes. “Yeah, it is.”

“But we should be safe so long as we get there without incident.”

“Then what?” Taehyung said, asking the logical, if unwelcome, next question.

Seokjin sighed, fixing Taehyung with an exhausted look. 

“I don’t know.”

Part Three: Namjoon

This time, it took Jo Yonsuk a solid twenty-five minutes to kick up a fuss. Namjoon had kept an eye on the businessman, who had somehow survived the onslaught of undead and retained enough sparkling personality to scare Taehyung into closing the door on them. The news had been slowly making its way around the car that they wouldn’t be stopping at Cheonan. Namjoon overheard Seokjin and Taehyung talking about debarking in Daejeon, and the news worried him. Yes there was risk in stopping at the smaller stations along the way, but couldn’t they pick up more survivors and get them to safety? On the other hand, there was the possibility of survivors panicking and debarking there to get away from the undead on the train. Away from any outside support and drifting through an uncertain landscape. Namjoon didn’t like that idea. They’d all survived so much already. It was a nice thought to just focus on Daejeon and trust there would be a time someone else would call the shots for him. 

Apparently, Namjoon’s opinion wasn’t universal. When Yonsuk was finally appraised of the situation, he sprang into action, vacating his seat with a strangled exclamation and shoving his way to the front of the car. Namjoon followed more slowly and only just caught up as Yonsuk stabbed the intercom button with his finger. 

“Hello?” he asked, “Anyone there?”

A voice came crackling through the tinny speakers, “Yes, go ahead.”

Namjoon stepped forward to try and dissuade the man, but he pressed on. 

“Do you even know what’s going on back here? Why aren’t you stopping in Cheonan?”

The conductor answered, “We are aware, sir. This is an order from our control center. Please be seated.”

Abruptly faced with a situation he couldn’t control, Yonsuk exploded. “That’s nonsense! People are going rabid! Stop in Cheonan, got it?!” he yelled, then ended the connection. 

“Yonsuk-ssi,” Namjoon interjected, “The control center has its reasons for passing the smaller stops.”

Behind him, a couple people pressed forward, attracted by what his blue sports coat symbolized. Right now, they were all desperate for reassurance, and he was an authority figure, as flimsy as any authority was in this situation. Namjoon may have wanted someone else to be in charge, but for the time being, he was all they had. He directed his next words at the crowd, trying to disguise any uncertainty in his tone as a slow hush descend.

“As of right now, we cannot guarantee the safety of the stops between here and Daejeon. In Daejeon, the military has set up a safe zone that we will all be taken to immediately after debarking the train. I cannot tell you what will happen after, but for now the best thing we all can do is stay calm and have patience.” 

So close to the press of bodies, Namjoon could almost feel an ease in the tension. They had a plan now. Or at least, a clear idea of their next steps. If all went well, they’d be safe within the next few hours and in the care of a much more capable entity. The knowledge loosened a knot in Namjoon’s chest, knowing he wouldn’t have to watch anyone else die today.

Then, the train slowed. 

It started as just one. A panicked face pressed against the outer layer of glass, hands pounding a throbbing rhythm. Then two more. Then six. Then a crowd of people shouting and crying and banging on the train desperate to escape. Namjoon didn’t have to watch. He could hear the all-too-familiar sounds of growling and biting, even through the thick plexiglass. 

Namjoon kept his eyes away from the windows to take stock of his survivors. They had all backed towards the center aisle, far away from the carnage as possible. The familiar with each other were holding on for dear life, taking comfort from the contact if not actual reassurance. The only ones still seated were two young men; one of whom was holding the other, pressing a limp face into his chest. Namjoon couldn’t tell if the limp boy was unconscious or terrified. He hoped it was the former.

Despite his best efforts, Namjoon couldn’t keep his eyes away from the platform forever. What he saw was worse than anything. While running, his view of the undead had been restricted to fleeting glimpses, sensory impressions only taken stock of; not analyzed. His closest encounter had been with Yoongi in the vestibule, but most of that had been from the back and clouded with adrenaline. Here, there was nothing to distract him. 

Undead descended upon the platform’s residents, cutting them down like long grass before the farmer’s scythe. One by one they were felled; by black-veined arms and whitened eyes and teeth stained in innumerable blood. Their terrified protests went unanswered by God or by fellow man. There was no helping them. They were already dead.

He didn’t want to think about it. But Namjoon’s brain didn’t give him a choice. Woochang. The fire. The screams of a terrified child trapped with no escape. Namjoon couldn’t save him. There’s no way he could’ve. He’d have died too if he tried. 

That’s what everyone told him. That’s what he knew. But Namjoon couldn’t help but doubt. He didn’t think he’d ever stop doubting. 

It’s why he was so quick to forgive Taehyung. Nobody deserved a decision like that. He spared a glance at the teenager, hunkered down near the end of the car, eyes stone cold and glued to the carnage without. He looked so much like Woochang. Namjoon wondered if, had the boy been allowed to grow up, would his eyes look like that? 

The thought steeled his resolve. Neither Woochang nor Taehyung had easy lives. They deserved so much more than what they got. They deserved better than to die this young. So Namjoon made a promise to himself; to the memory of Woochang. 

This time, he wouldn’t hesitate.


End file.
